


The Indelible Reflection of One’s Soul

by JinxedAmbitions



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Artist Jaskier, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Slow Burn, This is going to be pretty soft, you all know there is going to be a nude portrait scene but we’re all going to have to work for it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-26
Updated: 2020-05-26
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24380176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JinxedAmbitions/pseuds/JinxedAmbitions
Summary: It was an odd contract from the start, but Geralt hadn’t been expecting the Viscount de Lettenhove to make such a bizarre proposition when he arrived at the estate. Why anyone would request a witcher to pose for a portrait was beyond Geralt’s comprehension, but the coin was too good to turn down, and he wouldn't even have to wash the monster entrails out of his hair afterwards.It was a dangerous proposition from the start. Jaskier was well aware that no self-respecting nobleman would invite a witcher to his home unless there was a monster inside it. However, since the death of his parents and the title of viscount being passed to him, Jaskier longed for the adventures he’d been unable to take due to his responsibilities. Witchers were the epitome of adventure, and Jaskier wanted to capture that on canvas. When none other than Geralt of Rivia arrived at his estate, Jaskier feared it was not his life he might lose at the hands of the witcher, but his heart.OrJulian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove, requests Geralt sit for a portrait, but through the creation of a series of portraits, Jaskier sees the quiet soul beneath the witcher’s legend and falls hopelessly in love.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 13
Kudos: 154





	The Indelible Reflection of One’s Soul

_~The Viscount de Lettenhove requests an audience with a witcher at their earliest convenience~_

It wasn’t the usual posting for a contract. Usually those went something along the lines of _please help! Monster eating livestock/children/virgins_ or whatever else the beast might consider its favored meal. Even those postings by royalty usually seemed a bit more hasty than this. However, Geralt hadn’t found a paying job in a while, and beggars could not be choosers when armor needed to be mended or replaced.

So, he guided Roach toward the estate of the viscount. He had heard rumors that the previous viscount and viscountess had been viciously killed by some sort of beast or other while traveling back from the Redanian capital several summers earlier. However, he’d heard nothing of whether the beast had been slain or who exactly had taken over the title. It wasn’t the sort of thing Geralt was made aware of, unless he was the one hired to remove the monster.

The Viscount’s estate was beautiful. The fields around it were plentiful and the sea could be seen in the distance. No doubt there was a lovely view from the house itself. Wildflowers blossomed along the rolling hills, and there was a tranquility in the air. It was not the sort of place a witcher was often found. 

Beauty didn’t necessarily mean that there were no monsters, but wealth often meant that such problems were dealt with quickly and before they got out of hand. 

When Geralt came to the courtyard of the estate, the steward came out to meet him, eyeing him warily. The man’s attire was clean and made of fine material which meant this viscount was wealthy enough to spend lavishly on his servants. The entire place was a puzzlement, and were it not for the medallion resting silently against his chest, he might have suspected magic.

“What brings a witcher such as yourself to our humble estate?” the man asked, keeping his distance from Roach as she looked ready to nip anything within range. It was a safe assumption.

“There was a posting for an audience with a witcher,” Geralt said, holding up the posting itself, scrawled on a piece of parchment in a steady hand. It was the writing of one who had been taught how to meticulously for their letters, likely not the steward.

The man’s eyes widened as if this was the first he’d heard of such a thing. Just another peculiarity. Wouldn’t the man running the household know of a need for a witcher?

“It must be a mistake. We have no monsters here, thank the gods. Surely you have misunderstood. I am sorry for the inconvenience.” The man twitched nervously, and Geralt narrowed his eyes at him. He didn't seem to be hiding anything. There was only the rotten stench of fear, but not the nervous tics of deception.

“It says quite clearly ‘the Viscount de Lettenhove requests an audience with a witcher at their earliest convenience.’ In your humble opinion, how else might I take that?” Geralt asked, swinging off of Roach’s back gracefully. He hadn’t been paid for his last job. He hadn’t slept in days. Roach deserved to rest. He wasn’t leaving without the sum promised in the contract.

“Sir, I assure you, we have no need of your services, and I must ask you to le—”

Geralt walked past him without saying a word. He secured Roach’s reins to a post and walked into the manor. The steward was on his heels in seconds.

“This is unacceptable, Sir Witcher. You cannot simply walk—”

“What is all of this commotion about?” A young man asked from the stairs. He was wearing naught but braies which weren’t even properly tied. His chest was bare to reveal a thick mat of dark hair and love bites up and down it. His dark hair was a mess as though someone had been tugging at it, and his eyes were bright despite his dishevelment, making it clear that he had been enjoying himself rather than sleeping. 

“Master Julian, this brigand insists upon making you acquaintance. Should I summon the constable?” the steward asked, keeping his distance despite the fact that Geralt had left his swords behind with Roach.

The master of the house, who could scarcely be out of his teens, looked Geralt up and down with a keen eye. He tilted his head this way and that before a grin formed on his lips. “Oh this is wonderful. Golden eyes, truly terrifying demeanor, you must be the witcher I summoned. How fortuitous,” Master Julian said, coming to the bottom of the steps and continuing to look at Geralt with growing brightness in his eyes.

“Hmm.”

“And hair white as snow...you’re Geralt of Rivia.” A wide grin broke out on the young man’s face, and Geralt could admit that it was more pleasing than the barely concealed contempt he usually received from nobility, minor or otherwise.

“You have a contract for me?” Geralt said instead of confirming the man’s suspicions. He found it rarely safe to admit his name since Blaviken. He was sure many suspected him of being the so-called Butcher, but few had the balls to outright ask. 

“Yes, a job of great importance and...personal significance to me. If you would wait for me in the study, I will be with you once I am fit for polite company,” Master Julian stated.

“Not polite company,” Geralt grumbled, but he followed the frowning steward just the same.

The study was far larger than any Geralt had been in outside of a palace. The walls were lined with bookshelves, filled with volumes on everything one could imagine. How a viscount of a small region had such an extensive collection was unfathomable, but Geralt appreciated it nonetheless.

The steward did not leave once letting Geralt into the room. Instead, he stood at the door watching him with sharp eyes.

“If you are waiting for me to steal something, you will be standing there a while,” Geralt said as he continued to walk around the room, pulling books free to read their titles. 

“One shouldn’t take their eyes off a devil in their midst,” the man retorted, keeping a superior tone.

“Perhaps one shouldn’t summon devils without cause.”

The man made a sound that almost seemed like that of agreement, but Geralt ignored him. He was here for a job, and the sooner he was given the details the sooner he could leave. 

“Ah, I see you’ve found one of my favorite tomes,” the master of the house said as he swept into the room. He was wearing a lavish doublet, dyed a rich purple that bespoke his wealth. His trousers were a matching color, and he looked more like an eccentric king than a simple viscount.

“That will be all, Jacub. I can take it from here.”

The steward was hesitant, but an expectant look from the young master was enough to have him bowing and closing the door.

Stepping into Geralt’s space as though he wasn’t afraid of him at all, the master of the house reached into the space provided by the missing book and removed a bottle of liquor from the crevice. “A trick I learned while my father was still alive,” he said, holding up the bottle in offering.

“Hmm. You have a job for me?”

“I do indeed, but I must admit, it is probably not the sort that you are accustomed to.”

“A betrothed gone missing?” Geralt asked, having been asked to solve such a mystery on several occasions.

“Melitele’s tits, no, thankfully not,” the man said, taking a swift drink from the bottle as though such a prospect needed to be cleansed away. “I was made to love many.”

Geralt hummed. A cad then. Unsurprising given the wealth around him. Luxury mistaken for immortality was the folly of many lords during the last plague.

“I have a proposition.”

“As you’ve mentioned.” Geralt was already tired of the man’s stalling. He was half inclined to walk out, but the promise of coin was enough to keep him rooting in place.

Geralt accepted the bottle when the man offered it, and even he cringed at the awful fire of the drink.

“A rough brew, but it certainly does the trick. Now, before I tell you the particulars of the contract, I believe I should give you a bit of background on why I am asking such a thing.”

“It is unnecessary.”

“Humor me, dear witcher,” Julian said, sweeping his arm to gesture to the pair of chairs in front of the hearth.

Sighing, Geralt let himself be ushered to a seat. Julian sat with a flourish, placing the bottle on the small table between them.

“Are you truly Geralt of Rivia?” he asked, sounding awed by the prospect.

“Hmm.”

“What a true delight,” Julian said, propping his chin on his hand as he gazed wistfully at Geralt.

Geralt frowned, but he kept his comments to himself. He did not wish to encourage the man’s desire to talk. He wanted to know his job, so he could be on his way.

“I did not wish to become the Viscount de Lettenhove,” Julian said after a moment. “I studied at Oxenfurt with the intention of never returning, but when my mother and father...when they were killed unexpectedly, I had little choice in the matter. Dreams dashed, and responsibilities piling up faster than I could’ve imagined in my naive youth, I had to accept the life that had been determined for me rather than the one I chose for myself,” Julian explained.

“A true travesty, I’m sure.” Geralt didn’t have much time for the sob stories of nobles when there were plenty of people with true hardships. The thought of choosing one’s own path was almost laughable, but he supposed when one lived as decadently as the viscount, one might assume they were entitled choices.

“Did you choose to be a witcher?” 

“No.”

“And is there nothing you would rather do?”

“I’ve lived too long to waste time wondering what if.”

“Perhaps I am still young and naive, but I do not have the luxury of centuries at my disposal. I refuse to settle.”

“Spoken like a true noble.”

“Yes, perhaps, but that is not the point. While I am confined to Lettenhove, I have set out to, at the very least, entertain myself. I have mastered instruments, languages, and now I wish to master art.”

“Art?” Geralt’s head was beginning to ache with this man’s willingness to use ten words where one would suffice.

“Yes, I have taken up painting and portraiture.”

“Have you summoned a monster with your art? Wish me to describe a griffin to you? Why am I here?” Geralt asked, shaking his head at the absurdity of it.

“I wish for you to be my model...my muse.”

Geralt blinked at the spoiled noble. Surely, he had not heard him correctly. Surely, no one in their right mind would demand the audience of a witcher to ask him to sit for a portrait. Even a fool would not be so willing to risk his life.

“Oh do not give me that face. I have painted ladies of the court, countrysides, fruit, you name it. None of it has inspired me. Forgive me, some of the fine ladies I painted inspired me, but not my artistic talents rather my…”

“I understand. What makes you think a witcher will inspire your, so called, talents?” Geralt was beginning to think that the man’s only talent was words, or at least the abundance of them.

The young viscount smiled. It was sharp yet all encompassing. “Dear witcher, what is not to be inspired by? The death and destiny. The heroics and heartbreak...”

“Hmm.” 

The man had already managed to romanticize the whole matter, and it was truly ridiculous.

“I want to show the world another side of you. I want to look beneath the entrails and see the man…”

“Not a man.”

Julian tilted his head, seeming mildly confused.

“A mutant.”

“Right, yes, the mutations. I want to show…”

“No.”

“No?”

“You want to romanticize. You want to take a feared witcher and paint him, so you might tell your friends that you tamed the beast.”

“I doubt you have to fear a bit of paint taming you, Geralt.” The man sounded amused by the thought, and his smile was too familiar for Geralt’s taste. 

Julian, viscount or not, should have feared him. Geralt should have smelt the acrid scent of fear in the air. He should have been able to practically taste it by now, but he didn’t. Other than the vile smelling drink between them, the air only held the soft scent of the man’s perfume. 

“I won’t involve myself with the whims of men,” Geralt insisted, trying to break the familiarity of Julian’s gaze. 

“Even for over a thousand crowns?” 

Geralt frowned. “A very generous purse for such folly.”

“My prison is not my means, but my duties. I think we are much alike in that,” Julian said, nudging the bottle toward Geralt.

“And how much of my time would this job take?”

“But a few days, perhaps a little more.” The viscount’s smile was beseeching, hopeful to a fault. “I will provide you with food and a place to sleep as well.”

Geralt was silent, stewing over the details. He didn’t particularly want to take the job. Giving in to the whims of nobles was rarely a good idea, but the prospect of food and a bed was too much to pass up, even more so than the promise of a full coin purse.

“So, what do you say?” Julian asked after several minutes of silence. Clearly, the man lacked much in the way of patience.

“You will pay me up front, and in a few days I will return to the Path whether or not you have finished your portrait,” Geralt said, knowing he would live to regret this decision.

“Wonderful. I will fetch your coin, and we will begin right away,” Julian said, springing from his seat and rushing out of the study.

Geralt sighed. This was likely to be a true nightmare. He just hoped that a full belly for him and Roach was worth it.


End file.
